


Vanity Fair

by a_hand_outstretched



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: First Time, Kendall having a crisis per usual, M/M, Morning After, Stewy being sweet (in his own way), Stewy thinking about brunch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:35:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26691547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_hand_outstretched/pseuds/a_hand_outstretched
Summary: Stewy comes back, yawning, looking for all the world like it’s just a normal morning after another late night that ended with him too drunk to go home, too lazy to walk down the hall to a guest bedroom, the both of them crashing in Kendall’s full-sized bed that doesn’t fit them like it used to. He looks Kendall up and down, concern in his gaze. “You good?” he asks. “I told you not to do those tequila shots.”
Relationships: Stewy Hosseini/Kendall Roy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 56





	Vanity Fair

The first thing he feels is nausea. It’s not until he gets out of bed and vertigo makes him stumble, stepping back to catch himself, that his foot lands in something slippery and he remembers. He looks down at the bottle of lube, cap missing and lying in a puddle on the wood floor, then over his shoulder at Stewy, sprawled across his bed, naked and dead to the fucking world. All the air is sucked out of the room. Numbly, he walks to the bathroom. It connects his room to Roman’s bedroom, with a third door leading to the main hallway. He shuts the door behind him and walks to the others, turning the locks. Then he drops to his knees and throws up so many times that he ends up gasping for breath with tears and snot running down his face. 

When it passes, he rests his cheek against the toilet seat. Why couldn’t he be fucking normal? Normal guys don’t beg their best friends to fuck them, he’s pretty sure. In fact, that might be the textbook opposite of normal guy behavior. If nothing else, couldn’t his brain do him the small kindness of blacking the fuck out for the night? No, of course not. It's all there — jumbled up, maybe, dreamlike, a hallucination, another story Stewy spun him when they were so high the lines blur but — it's all there. He can remember, he can see and feel everything he did. 

He spits, flushes the toilet, and rinses out his mouth with mouthwash, leaning heavily against the counter. He gets in the shower and turns the water as hot as he can stand it, which is very hot because his body still feels like it belongs to someone else far away. The steam grows thick enough it's almost difficult to breathe. He wonders how long he’s been in the bathroom. If he stays in here long enough Stewy will leave, probably. Maybe he won’t even have to talk to him this morning. 

As if on cue, there’s a knock at the door. “Ken?” Stewy calls. Kendall flinches at the sound of his voice. “You okay in there?” 

He forces himself to respond. “I’m fine.” He hears the handle turn — he forgot to lock the door to his own room, fuck — and snaps, “don’t!” 

“Okay, okay.” The door shuts again. “Hey, I think I’m gonna split.” 

He breathes a sigh of relief. He gives it a few more minutes, then shuts the water off. He catches a glimpse of himself in the fogged mirror when he steps out of the shower and the relief is replaced by another pang of shame. He’s going to have to avoid Stewy for a while — he doesn’t think he can look him in the eye while he has bruises in the shape of his fingers on his skin. He turns away, dries off, and wraps the towel around his waist. 

He lets out an involuntary noise of surprise when he opens the door to his room. Stewy’s still here, back on his bed but wearing boxers now. He’s reading some old copy of Vanity Fair that Shiv gave him as a joke, dug up from who knows where — if Kendall wasn’t preoccupied he’d give him shit for snooping again. There are a couple of embarrassing pictures of him and Connor in it, their cringe worthy captions highlighted by Shiv on helpfully dogeared pages, if Kendall remembers correctly. She might have added some stickers, too. 

“Finally, I was about to piss in your fucking hamper, bro,” Stewy says. 

Kendall wants to step back into the bathroom and lock the door, but obviously he can’t. He nods like a robot and steps aside as Stewy walks past him. Stewy makes some joke that he doesn’t really hear, but he laughs anyway. At least, he thinks he does. He manages to sit down on the bed and zones out as the sink runs in the background. 

Stewy comes back, yawning, looking for all the world like it’s just a normal morning after another late night that ended with him too drunk to go home, too lazy to walk down the hall to a guest bedroom, the both of them crashing in Kendall’s full-sized bed that doesn’t fit them like it used to. He looks Kendall up and down, concern in his gaze. “You good?” he asks. “I told you not to do those tequila shots.” 

Kendall fixes his eyes on the floor. He tells himself to just be steady, get through the next few minutes, get Stewy out the door and then he can fall apart, put himself back together. Maybe his skin is still red enough from the hot water that it’ll hide the embarrassment on his face. “I thought you were leaving?” he asks. 

Stewy shrugs. “Eventually. I’ve got a brunch thing at 12.” He flops back onto the bed, reaching for the magazine again. Kendall remembers Stewy's hand clamping over his mouth to shut him up last night and thanks God and whoever else might be listening that his father is in Germany this week. Jesus, fuck, doing this here? He’s so fucking stupid. He feels like he might throw up again. He actually will if Stewy keeps acting like nothing’s happened. Kendall’s waiting for the other shoe to drop and kick him in the gut and it usually doesn’t take this long. He can’t take the anticipation. 

Finally, he asks, “Are we, uh. I mean… Last night?” 

Stewy raises his eyebrows. “Oh?” 

“What, like, it happened, right? Do we need to… talk? About it?” 

“Do _you_ need to talk about it?” 

What the fuck is he supposed to say to that? Yes, Stewy, I would like to discuss the emotional ramifications of your dick in my ass? Clearly, nothing has changed for Stewy, so nothing’s changed for him. Isn’t that a good thing? Isn’t that the best case for this idiotic scenario? Just shut the fuck up, Kendall. It's pathetic. He backtracks. “Just, I mean, you know you can’t tell —” 

“Oh, don’t fucking insult me, dude. What, you want me to sign an NDA? Fuck you.” Stewy whacks him in the arm with the magazine. Kendall shoves him, gets another slap, and then they’re wrestling and he swiftly ends up with his arms pinned above his head and his heart feeling like it might burst out of his chest. He regrets not putting some clothes on while he had the chance. The towel is barely hanging on his waist and Stewy has a knee between his legs. He looks unfairly good for having gotten just as fucked up as Kendall last night. There’s too much exposed skin between them for him to think clearly. 

“Stop spiraling, Ken.” 

“I’m not.” 

“Really?” Stewy says, in a voice that makes it clear he doesn’t buy it. He leans close over him. “So you’re not going to freak if I...” Stewy kisses his mouth and his whole body seizes up. He wants so much, but it can’t be this — whatever _this_ is, a far cry from the occasional bathroom handjob under the influence — it’s getting out of control. Kendall hates himself for letting it get this far and that he’ll do nothing to stop it going further. He can already feel the justifications building in the back of his head.

Stewy pulls back to laugh softly. It’s not unkind, though that might be preferable. 

“Don’t…” Kendall’s voice comes out weak and fluttery, completely betraying him. Stewy kisses him again, cupping his face in his hands. Kendall relaxes a fraction and opens his mouth, even though he can’t bring himself to move his limbs. He tastes peppermint. 

“You can’t overthink these things, man,” Stewy says, sagely, like he’s got a PhD in friends with benefits. The way he explained how to make a girl cum when they were 12 and neither of them had so much as gotten to second base. He ruffles Kendall’s hair. 

Kendall squeezes his eyes shut and groans. “Forget I brought it up.” He pushes Stewy off so he can stand up and get some clothes. He catches his eye in the mirror as he’s rummaging through his dresser drawers and glares.“Did you use my fucking toothbrush again, asshole?” 

Stewy stretches across the bed and grins, baring his teeth. 


End file.
